#bearforce one

[onwesterlywinds]

callout post @ Ashelia Riot - remember that time when Bear kept bringing all of his animals to the Sandsea and Ashe was like "Bear Do Not." Ashe can't say anything to him now since she has bunches of pets. Two dogs, a gryphon baby, Ej marbrando, etc.

[onwesterlywinds]

(Drabble number one of “Things I Need to Write”, conceived when llymlaenscompass and I were at the great café where we did our IC AMA. Contains Bearforce One as well as a small reference to happy-eating-yes-indeedie‘s Mipije Mapije.)

"Wild Rose."

Ashe inhaled sharply to cut off an exclamation of surprise, clutching her nightgown closer around her as she collided with someone very tall and solid. She blinked, her tired eyes still adjusting to the daylight; Bearforce One stood before her, looking and sounding thoroughly delighted about something.

"-will show Wild Rose some thing, Bear says to Sea Pearl. Sea Pearl comes down from big snows. Sea Pearl says small Lalafell called Mip Map make breakfast foods. Bear did not know there were foods just for morning. Bear asks why this food is just for morning. Sea Pearl does not know. Sea Pearl says all foods are good at all times. But Bear will show Wild Rose anyway."

Ashe could not for the life of her understand what the Highlander man was trying to convey. She had only just woken up, and what she needed more than anything else at that moment was a cup of the strongest coffee she could get her hands on. Yet she could not in good conscience tell this to Bear, and so she squinted a little harder to stare uncomprehendingly at the object he held in his hands.

"Bear think this is good food for breakfast. Bear think this is good food for any time, as Sea Pearl says."

It was a rich, flaky pastry cut into even fourths, topped with thick layers of what appeared to be a sugary glaze and candied nuts. The mere sight of something so decadent so early in the morning nearly made Ashe's stomach heave.

"It is called a bear claw," said Bear, proudly beaming down at her. "It looks like the claw of a bear. Does Wild Rose see?"

Ashe nodded in what she hoped appeared to be an enthusiastic fashion.

"Bear will have to thank Sea Pearl. Bear loves the bear claw. It is good food."

"Have you even tried it yet?" Ashe asked, slipping past Bear in a direct line for the stove and the coffeepot.

Bear narrowed his eyes at the Grand Steward in the kitchen, looking puzzled for the first time. "Tried it yet?"

Ashe glanced back at him, accidentally spooning an extra scoop of coffee grounds into the pot as she did so. "Yes. Have you eaten any of it yet? Does it taste good?"

He bit his lip in apparent thought, studying the pastry in his grasp. "…Bear wants to eat it." He turned it over in his hands gingerly, his fingers visibly getting stickier from the excessive amount of glaze; several chunks of almond fell to the floor of the entrance hall. "But then it will not look like a bear claw."

"It'll go bad if you don't eat it soon, Bear."

"…Wild Rose is right." Tentatively Bear raised the entire bear claw to his mouth, then at once tore off a giant chunk of the sweet bread between his incisors. He chewed for several long and silent moments, contemplating the flavor with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Well?" she prompted.

"The bear claw… does not taste like Bear expect." He swallowed. "Bear will thank Sea Pearl. But Bear think..."

"Too sweet?"

"Very sweet. Bear like sweet. But not sweet like the bear claw."

Ashe watched Bear, now holding the pastry at arm's length as though it were some sort of vilekin, and sighed. "Alright, then." She laid a plate and napkin onto the bar. "You can leave it here. I'll eat it later."

Bear gratefully complied, setting the bear claw down onto the plate. As he did so, his eyes fell on the pot full of Ala Mhigan coffee percolating merrily on the stove.

"…Bear has seen Wild Rose's drink. Dark, like bear fur."

She rolled her eyes.

"Bear can try?"

[onwesterlywinds]

♣

♣ - A fading memory.

Refugees did sometimes leave the camps. If they were lucky, they returned within the month, a good deal poorer and more cynical for their trouble. Others went off to play a more direct role in the Resistance’s games. Those did return on occasion, albeit withdrawn and damaged and prone to lash out; if they did not, word quickly spread of their execution at the hands of some Garlean praefectus or another.

Some would spend days on end waxing poetic about some new opportunity they had, some new life waiting for them elsewhere. Those, without exception, never returned.

The young Ashelia could not remember the family’s name, but she did remember them hearing their talk quite secretly of relocating to Gridania. They had connections there, although none of them mentioned just who or what these connections happened to be. But they were confident that they would have a better life in the forest that had so brutally shunned Ashe two years before.

Let them go, then, she thought bitterly. And I hope they eat leaves and twigs for the rest of their lives.

She was just sad that the young boy had to follow his mother. She doubted she’d miss him, but she did like him. Mostly she liked that he didn’t talk much.

She watched them pack their few belongings, the activity generating a rare flurry of motion of the sort that wasn’t often seen in the settlement. Whenever the boy picked up a bag or sack, his mother promptly took it from him, stowing it somewhere on her person. She did this until Ashelia wondered how she had room even to walk under the weight of all her earthly burdens, but walk she did, quickly ushering the boy along beside her. The woman stopped, turned to speak to an adult-

“Hey.”

The boy turned, giving Ashelia a blank stare.

She suddenly wasn’t sure she knew what she wanted to say, suddenly afraid she might mess something up. It wasn’t a sensation she enjoyed. “They’re mean up there, in the woods,” she finally said. “Good… good luck.”

He nodded, gave her the tiniest hint of a smile, then his mother gave him a loving touch to the back of his head with one of her laden hands and he began walking north.

[onwesterlywinds]

Morgana Arroway: Riot. Ashelia Riot: What. Morgana Arroway: Here with more guests? I didn’t know you were starting a sightseeing industry. Ashelia Riot scowls at Morgana Arroway. Ashelia Riot: He’s not allowed to worship? Morgana Arroway: I’ve never seen him before. Why now? Ashelia Riot’s body language quickly grows tense before she can help herself. Ashelia Riot: Why not? Look at him. He’s clearly one of us. Morgana Arroway looks over to the young man, then back at Ashelia, then sighs, clearly at a loss for words. Morgana Arroway: ...Is he one of your company too? Ashelia Riot: He is. Morgana Arroway cuts herself off before she can speak again, noticing the young man at the stone, and her heart hangs heavy, knowing that this is neither the first nor the last time that something of the like will happen. Morgana Arroway: Has he lost his family? Ashelia Riot: We are his family. Morgana Arroway: Every one of us has lost something. No one has cried to Rhalgr and lost no one. Ashelia Riot: I don’t know, Morgana. I just... I don’t want anyone around here to give him any trouble. Do you understand me? He is not to be harmed. Morgana Arroway: I’ll make sure that no one does. After all, I do owe you a favor. And... he does seem Mhigan. Sylvan Rain: Do you worship Rhalgr, Bear? Bearforce One: Bear not know. Bear feel... Bear know this rock. Sylvan Rain: Rhalgr the Destroyer provides us with great strength. In battle he is with us, watching. Bearforce One sits down carefully in front of the mark and touches the stone. There is a warmth there that feels familiar, and suddenly, his eyes begin to water. Bearforce One: Fire Woman... Bear sad. Sylvan Rain: It’s alright to be sad, Bear. This is a very important moment for you. Bearforce One’s eyes begin to well up. Sylvan Rain: It is a good thing that you learn where you come from, Bear. Bearforce One hangs his head at her touch, and his hand upon the stone forms a loose fist. His shoulders tremble as he weeps, unable to help himself and confused as to why he wept at all. Sylvan Rain: The emotions you feel mean you have a strong connection with this place. You must interpret them for yourself and decide what you must do next. Be strong, Bear. Let Rhalgr’s power give you the strength to move on. Bear must create his own future. Bearforce One nods at her words, knowing that what she says is the best course. However, his shoulders still shake with myriad emotions. Sylvan Rain: In time, you will heal. Bearforce One: Bear... Bear angry... Angry that Bear not know. So long time Bear know nothing. Sylvan Rain: That is not your fault, Bear. Bearforce One: Bear want to know. Bear so tired of knowing nothing... Bear not know how to know. Bear angry, and sad... Bearforce One brings his arm up to roughly wipe at his eyes and nose, looking more like a child than the fully-grown man he is. Bearforce One: Fire Woman... Bearforce One’s voice is still shaky from his emotions, but there is a hint of vengeance to his tone. Bearforce One: Who make Highlander home gone?

[onwesterlywinds]

Bearforce One: Home is... sad place. Ashelia Riot places a hand on his shoulder. Bearforce One: Wild Rose... this home feel so sad. Bear not know why. Ashelia Riot: It’s not home at all. Not... to most of the people here. Bearforce One repeats her words from several days before. Bearforce One: Cannot come to Sandsea... Ashelia Riot simply shakes her head. Bearforce One: Bear feel... Bearforce One: Bear feel lost.

[onwesterlywinds]

One Thing that Happened, Three that Did Not

(The first scenario actually happened, although neither of the characters involved have any recollection of it. The other three are what-ifs, based on if things had gone just a little differently. I wrote this because I couldn’t sleep so there might be some weird typos, whoops.)

“Hey. Hey.”

The boy had been sitting against the same cavern wall for hours, having been told to stay put until Healing Ma or Fighting Ma had come for him. He was dirty and tired and clearly malnourished, but he looked up at the girl who had spoken to him all the same.

“You hungry?”

The boy knew better than to speak to strangers, but she wasn’t really a stranger. He’d seen her a couple of times before, running around someplace or another. He didn’t like that Fighting Ma always scowled as the girl passed by, or the way Healing Ma would mutter something about “At it again, I see,” but the boy had never known anything wrong with her. And truthfully, he was hungry, even if his two mothers were off trying to find them all something to eat. The boy didn’t see how any harm could come from telling the truth, and so he nodded.

“I know how to get some food,” the girl said. She was a little smaller than him, possibly a year or two younger, but the boy had seen before that she was strong and quick for her size, and he believed her words at once. “An’ if you help me out, I’ll get some for you too.”

He stared, torn between doing what his mothers had told him to do and helping this girl who might also be able to help him.

“You don’t even gotta move. Just stay right there, an’ if anyone comes runnin’ by all angry-like, scream. Got it?”

The boy thought he understood, although there was so much about her plan that he didn’t understand. Still, the girl was bouncing on the balls of her feet, seemingly in a hurry, and so he nodded. She nodded back, grinning down at him with a mouth full of broken baby teeth. Then she was gone, her dark crimson hair flying behind her like a trail of fire.

A minute passed in complete and utter silence, then two. After five minutes, the boy began to wonder if he’d been tricked somehow, or forgotten about. Then there was a loud shout from the rock formations up above them, and a little squeak of alarm that could only have been the girl’s, and then she reappeared, carrying two rations of flatbread and running as though a voidsent were on her heels. She stopped only long enough to shove one of the flatbreads into his hands and whisper, “Hide it. Hide it!” and then she vanished again into the tunnel from which she had originally come.

The boy stared down at the food in his hands, his stomach growling at the reminder that he’d had nothing to eat for most of the week. But he did as he was told, hiding the bread behind his back as a man garbed head to toe in armor and brandishing a sword came running. The man turned on the boy, demanded, “Did you see which way she went?!” and the boy shook his head fervently.

And when Healing Ma and Fighting Ma both came back late at night with empty hands, he split the bread between the three of them.

She didn’t care how many times she’d been told not to pick fights. She didn’t care that her arse was still sore from Gundobald’s most recent punishment. She was angry, angry at the newest Arroway boy who had arrived only the previous day, and she was so angry that she took it upon herself to make her anger known to the one person who would listen to her.

“Why’s he here?” she demanded of Mattius. The boy simply blinked at her, much as he usually did. She wasn’t expecting a response from him, not really - the boy hadn’t strung together more than a couple of words in all the times she’d seen him before - but after spending hours that morning trying to talk to her mother and getting no response at all, talking to anyone felt good. Even if she was angry.

He didn’t look like them, that was the problem. She’d seen a glimpse of the new boy’s young face and hated him on sight. He was pale and thin and had godsawful-looking ears. He looked like the people who had made her mother cry when she’d asked for a place to stay the night. The people who had driven them from the Shroud after the forest had taken everything they’d had.

“Why’s. He. Here?!” she repeated, no longer caring just who heard her and even hoping just a little that she’d be heard by the entire camp.

Mattius took a step toward her, then another, hands tightening into fists. “He’s my brother.”

She was almost shocked - those were some of the first words she’d ever heard him say. “He’s ugly,” she told him. “And awful, and a... a thrice-cursed bastard. And he should go back to the Shroud or just die, ‘cause he-”

Mattius raised his fist and hit her, square on the jaw.

More than anything else, the blow surprised her. More than anything else, it reminded her of home, of getting into fights with a boy her age who actually wanted to fight back.

Tears filled Ashelia Riot’s eyes, and she burst into loud, gut-wrenching sobs.

At first, Mattius did nothing but stare. Then, after a long moment, he closed the distance between him and pulled her into a tight embrace.

Sairsel opened his eyes, feeling someone shake him. It was Ashelia again, he knew - no one else would have been able to get past all four of his parents, and Mattius wouldn’t have been so rough about it.

"I’m staying here,” she mouthed, then, audibly, “Move over.”

Sairsel nodded. He knew his parents didn’t like her spending so much time with him and Mattius. They kept saying something about “decency”, and Sairsel could only gather that there was something indecent about a thirteen-year-old girl and a fifteen-year-old boy sleeping together, but he couldn’t see the problem. It wasn’t like Ashelia enjoyed spending nights with them, anyway.

“Your ma’s drinking again?” he asked, propping himself up on one elbow.

Ashelia unfurled her bedroll right next to his. She didn’t answer, which had to mean a yes. Or worse.

Sairsel frowned. He liked Ashelia a lot - she spent most of her time with him and Mattius, and he knew she looked after them in ways he had no idea about - but there were some things he wished she’d be straightforward about for once. He was the youngest of their group by far, but that didn’t mean he was stupid. “I’ve seen her when she’s like that, you know,” he whispered, because he had. He had, and it still hurt him to think about. Mattius had said to him in private that Ashelia blamed herself for the way her ma was, but he couldn’t understand how it possibly could be. “You don’t have to try to keep it from me.”

“Sairsel,” his mother whispered from several feet off. “Go to sleep.”

Ashelia let out a faint sigh, then performed a silent mimicry of Morgana Arroway by screwing her face up into an irritated expression. He giggled a little before he could help himself, and she forcibly rolled him over to face the cavern wall before turning her back to his own. She settled there next to him, and he fell asleep quickly to the sound of her breathing.

“That one looks like a bear.”

“You think everything looks like a bear, Mattius.” Ashelia took another swig from the bottle before passing it to Sairsel.

“No, look.” The young man pointed up into the heavens, his fingers deftly illustrating lines of constellations. “Head. Body. Paws. Tail.”

Sairsel accepted the proffered bottle, the smell of the contents making his stomach turn a little, but he took a drink anyway. It burned hard on the way down. “I think I see a bear, too.”

“You’re both hopeless.” Ashelia stretched out where she lay on the top of the mesa, staring up at the vast expanse of stars before her. It was a beautiful sight, but she couldn’t find much comfort in it. There was an ache in her chest when she considered what lay ahead.

Sairsel gave her a little shove. “What is it?”

Mattius caught onto her mood at once, all his attention suddenly on her. “Said you want to tell us something,” he added, his voice a deep rumble in his chest. “Something serious?”

Ashelia couldn’t meet their gazes. Instead she fiddled with one of her dark red dreadlocks. She’d styled her hair painstakingly over the years, doing her utmost to keep it out of the sun and ensure that it stayed as dark as possible while it grew into thick locks. She’d wanted her hair to look as much like Mattius’s as possible, and her efforts had paid off. She’d have to cut it if she left the settlement, she knew. People would recognize her immediately as a Mhigan with or without that hair, but she highly doubted she’d be able to maintain it if she...

“I’m going to enlist with the Flames,” she said. Sairsel gasped next to her. “The Garleans are on the move, and I want to take as many of them out as I can.”

“But... what about your other plans?!” Sairsel demanded. He had sat up, was staring down at her with a look of fear in his eyes that she’d been dreading. “Traveling Eorzea! Reforming the Riskbreakers!” On her other side, Mattius sat very still.

“That can all wait a while. It’s not like I’ll be bound to the Flames for life, or anything. But I... I need to do this.”

“To keep us safe,” Mattius murmured.

Of course he understood. She’d been stupid to think he wouldn’t. She nodded. “I’m the best swordsman out of the three of us. It’s only right that I should go.”

“But Ashelia-”

“No, Sairsel, you’re not coming with me, and nothing you can say will be able to make me stay. I’m leaving in three days; I’ve already arranged the trip. All the gil I’ve earned from guard duty will go to you two. And when I come back, then we can see about the three of us going adventuring together. But none of it’s worth it if I can’t protect you two from the Garleans.”

Sairsel let out a noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl. “Gods damn you, Riot.”

“You know I’ll miss you both,” she continued. Her voice broke a little, but she ignored it. “And I’ll... do everything I can to come back from Carteneau.”

“We know,” the two boys said in unison.

She grinned, and the tension in her heart slowly eased.

[safestsephiroth]

Pssst are you still doing that ask meme from a while ago? ;A; i didn't actually see it until now. If so can I ask for Bear for any of your characters? :'D And Madelaine?

No problem! SORRY FOR THE EXTENDED DELAY!

Will do Bear for Marguerite, and Madelaine for Jaraku, Resh, and Gaelle

Marguerite's view of Bear:

0/10 | Sexual Attraction0/10 | Romantic Attraction0/10 | Crushing10/10 | Squishing1/10 | Sensual Attraction7/10 | Aesthetic Attraction

Jaraku's view of Madelaine:

8/10 | Sexual Attraction4/10 | Romantic Attraction2/10 | Crushing6/10 | Squishing6/10 | Sensual Attraction8/10 | Aesthetic Attraction

Resh's view of Madelaine:

1/10 | Sexual Attraction4/10 | Romantic Attraction2/10 | Crushing8/10 | Squishing4/10 | Sensual Attraction9/10 | Aesthetic Attraction

Gaelle's view of Madelaine:

10/10 | Sexual Attraction8/10 | Romantic Attraction8/10 | Crushing10/10 | Squishing8/10 | Sensual Attraction10/10 | Aesthetic Attraction

[audio-hostem-arcanist]

You Need To Move On

[TW: fucked-up shit]

Bear nodded at her.

“Many thanks. Mar-gar-eet also have good heart.”

Her hand clenched.

The screams echoed through the room. Stone walls, stone ceiling, stone floor. It was designed that way. The echoing made it worse for them as well as the prisoners in the rooms nearby. Forcing them to wait and listen was a key part.

The goal was to keep them alive until you had what you needed, and the less damaging your technique the less likely the spells would fail to resuscitate them.

Arguably the worst part was in the description. She walked in front of the target, always restrained, given time to consider their position. The ones who were already squeezed of everything valuable were used as motivation beforehand, their twisted screaming the first step. After a time, they were knocked unconscious abruptly, the implication obvious to the listener.

Then she would enter the room. She would ask a question. Then another. The instant she met resistance, she would nod, and explain to them in depth. She would show them every single device, every single method, and subject them to not a single one. She would elaborate on the order they would be used in, exactly what they were for, who designed them, their exact specifications, the materials used in their construction...every single step.

She would describe the potion used for healing, that which mended flesh and made what was wounded far more sensitive for a time. She would describe the anatomy of whatever race her target was, and exactly what would hurt the most and where. She would lay all her cards on the table, entirely honestly, and ask one more time.

That was the most successful part of the process. Most broke down then and there, interrupting her with the answer. She ignored them until she was finished, and then listened. She would ask all manner of questions, some seemingly meaningless, and record every answer.

They didn't know that was just the first step. The information they provided recorded, she would nod, stand up, leave the room, and then come back.

“I have bad news. The unfortunate truth of the business we are now both involved in is that it is very easy to lie. I will need to cover all the bases. You understand.”

Every hour, on the hour, she asked all the questions again. Giving a different answer was not a smart practice. The truth is the only thing which would easily be remembered. Consistency, then, was important.

Eventually, everyone would provide what was needed. Every last one.

Except for him.

She nodded politely, gratefully, but corrected Bear.

“Thank you. That is not true. But thank you.” It took her time to simplify her speech, every sentence a challenge. She would not disrespect him as so many others surely had, by flaunting a vocabulary he had not developed by no fault of his own. She had met few others with the hunger for knowledge this man had. She would not leave him starved, if at all possible.

He had insisted on his innocence from before the time she brought him into the room. This was not atypical. Every step of the way, however, he continued to do so. Every shock, every cut, every nerve wracked with agony, and always the same result. He had not been trained for this, that much was clear. He was not particularly tough, nor was he particularly strong. After the third day, he started spouting obvious lies. That was when she realized what she had done.

Bear spoke again.

“Mar-gar-eet speak simple for Bear. Read for Bear. Could spit at Bear instead. Mar-gar-eet did not.”

How many had spit at him? How many had treated this innocent like little more than a feral, ravenous, dangerous beast?

She hated them. Fire welled within her soul, flames climbing higher through her body. She felt beads of sweat forming.

She asked who had brought the man in. It was the most recent recruit. Two months in and he had shown so much promise she allowed him to work on his own.

She realized what had happened. The man he'd brought in had not shown what her subordinate believed the proper respect.

This man in the room, lying on the table, his mind all but destroyed, had been simple from the start. He didn't know anything about her goals or how to fulfill them. He was an innocent child grown up, uncorrupted by the evils of the world.

Until now.

She called the recruit into her office.

She cleared her throat.

“Not being mean is not the same as being good.” She saw that Bear was trying to comprehend her meaning. It was a concept he must not have been exposed to.

“Bear does not understand. Mar-gar-eet not mean. Why not good?”

She closed her eyes, briefly, forming the words.

She greeted him with a smile. A full-faced, wide smile. Her eyes alone betrayed her, but he did not notice. Her eyes were not joyous, not the liars her lips were. That was a skill she had not yet mastered.

“Hello, Alain. Please, sit down.” The walls were plain, the floor was plain, a simple rug laid across his side of the utilitarian desk. She stood to welcome him in.

“Mar-gar-eet does bad things to try to do good things. Not to Bear. Mostly to bad people.”

He sat down. Two months had not honed Alain's instincts yet. She spoke honeyed words, watched his narcissistic grin grow and grow. He closed his eyes at one point, no doubt imagining what she had proposed to him.

How foolish some became in the face of someone they thought attractive. A weakness all-too-easily exploited.

Bear spoke again, determination in his voice.

“Mar-gar-eet does bad things to bad people. Mar-gar-eet good.”

The blow had caught him off-guard. He tried to draw his sword, but she was already on top of him, blow after blow connecting with his skull, her fingers cracking from the force in spite of the padding the knuckles provided. His cheekbones caved, and she pulsed healing through her arms and hands and into his face. Her lieutenant came in the office to watch, observing well the price of deceiving her.

She shook her head at Bear, trying to word it gently.

“Bad things are bad. Bad and bad are not made good.”

Bear leaned back slightly, unconsciously trying to make the ideas connect with the subtle movement.

“Bear does not understand....” He tilted his head at her, quizzically studying her.

She nodded, politely. Honesty was worth respecting. Accurately stating one's lack of understanding was a strength she admired.

“Some things are too bad to be made good.”

She dragged him kicking and screaming to the room. Her subordinates had already moved the innocent out, taken him to a quiet, safe space far removed from this darkness. She forced him onto the table, breaking his arm near the shoulder when he resisted, then the opposite knee. Then the working elbow. His thrashing was violent enough that bones began to protude from the wounds.

Foolish. Understandable. But foolish.

“An innocent man suffered because of your pride. You will know a thousandfold what he learned. Death is not a reward I will grant you as long as I live, not until your mind is a shattered mass and your soul is dead within you. And when I kill you, when I finally remove your stain from the world around us, and send you to the Hell that awaits, I will leave your carcass for the maggots. You are not worthy of being fed to the dogs, to the beasts. I will watch you decay and I will-”

“Mar-gar-eet know things are bad. Why do bad things?”

She blinked, forcing the memory back. It refused to be kept away, forcing itself back again and again, until she spoke through it.

“Some things MUST be done.” It was the loudest she had been since entering these walls. She continued, softer: “To do them, sometimes Mar-gar must do bad things. Mar-gar does not like this.”

She took her first break, sipping water, considering her options. She brought her food, a delicious-smelling roast, into the hall with her. Alain would smell it and know, and would be deprived the food he had tasted so much before. She would not let Alain taste food worth the name ever again.

What could she do, now? No doctor could mend the innocent's mind. No healing could fix him. He was gibbering, a mess of words and flesh and torment.

She had to try.

She left the hallway, for the kitchen. She found the sweetest treats they had, and left for the quiet room. The safe room.

He had not moved since he was put there. Curled like a fetus, sobbing unending. She ordered a subordinate to give him the treat, to be as careful and kind as possible.

The poor innocent did not notice. He began choking on the sweets, his body seizing on the floor.

Asphyxiation was a painful, slow death. She refused to let him suffer it. Society's concept of what was brutal and what was merciful was revolting to her. So many quick deaths were thought unkind merely for what their result was. But to be unaware of death was the ultimate kindness.

She grabbed him by the shoulders and charged the spell, violently exploding him. The poor, innocent mind she had destroyed was eliminated in an instant. The mess was nothing to her. Nothing compared to what she had done.

Alain's torment lasted four months. Every hour, on the hour, she reminded him of what he had done, and why she was destroying him. He was fed only pieces of the other prisoners. The slavers, the somnus magnates, those who had become wealthy off the work of the desperate poor to destroy the helpless poor, none suffered as Alain did.

Because she knew her work was necessary, and the punishment she deserved she could not issue. Alain suffered for both of them. It still wasn't enough. She made sure the process was as protracted as possible, took as long as possible, and he still didn't suffer enough. She still didn't suffer enough.

Bear took some time to consider her words carefully, and when he had concluded, he spoke to her.

“Mar-gar-eet is Dutiful Owl.”

She stared at him, her heart stopping.

Here was someone downtrodden, beaten by the world and hated by the vile and repulsive. Someone strong in spite of fate, and not because of it.

The weight lifted, ever-so-slightly. The memory faded, for now. It was the most relief she had felt since that day. The endless string of self-condemnation had paused for the briefest of moments.

So this was what happiness was.

“Thank you, Bear.”